Part 44 (1/2)

”If there was a really big surge of magic . . . maybe that explains the dreams,” she said. ”It wasn't just the three of us. The night before last, a lot of people-Paranet people, I mean-had nightmares, too. Some of them were bad enough that people haven't slept since. A couple of folks wound up in the hospital.” She blinked at Will. ”That's what happened with you, Will.”

”What do you mean?” Will said.

”When Georgia called you. She'd had the nightmare twice, during the day, when she tried to sleep. She must have had it again and tried to call you.”

”There's no point in speculation for now.” I looked at Will. ”In short, more people missing, bad dreams, everyone is gathering in defensive herds. That about it?”

”More or less,” Will said. ”What did you get?”

”I sent an e-mail to the address Marcone gave us. Told them I had a talent in need of placement. I got a public phone location. I'm supposed to be there to answer a call at nine tonight.”

Will frowned. ”So they can get a look at you first, right?”

”Probably.”

”You shouldn't look like you,” Marcy blurted. Her face colored slightly. ”I mean, like, you're the supernatural cop in Chicago. Everyone knows that. And it makes sense that anyone planning something here wouldn't have much trouble finding out who might actually get in their way.”

”Unfortunately,” I said, ”I don't have a different look.”

Will looked at Marcy, frowning, and then said, ”Ah. Makeover.”

”We have a little time,” Marcy said, nodding.

”Hey,” I said.

”She's right, Ms. Murphy,” Will said. ”You've been seen with Dresden a lot. And, no offense, but not many people look like you do.”

”Meaning?” I asked him. I smiled.

Will's eyes might have checked the distance between himself and the door. ”Meaning you're outside the norm for adult height and weight,” he said. ”Exceptionally so. We should do what we can to make it harder to identify you.”

Will had a point, I supposed. Annoying as it might be, his logic was sound. And I was almost certainly a little sensitive where my height was concerned. I sighed. ”All right. But if I hear montage music starting to play, I'm cutting it short.”

Will, seeming to relax, nodded. ”Cool.”

Marcy nodded with him. ”So what about Will and me? I mean, what do the two of us do?”

I looked at the pair of young werewolves and pursed my lips. ”How do you feel about duct tape?”

WHEN I ANSWERED the pay phone outside a small grocery store on Belmont, I felt like an idiot. In the windows of a darkened shop across the street, I could see my reflection.

Halloween had come early this year. I wore boots not unlike Herman Munster's, with elevator soles about three inches thick, making me look taller. My hair was dyed matte black and was slicked down to my skull. There was so much product in it, I was fairly sure it would deflect bullets. I wore some black dance tights Marcy had donated to the cause, a black T-s.h.i.+rt, and a black leather jacket in a youth size.

My face was the worst part of the disguise. I was all but smothered beneath the makeup. Dark tones of silver that faded to black made a mess of my eyes, altering their shape by means of suggestion, through clever application of liner. In the evening light, I might have looked Asian. My lips were darkened, too, a shade of wine red that somehow managed to complement the eye shadow. The lipstick changed the shape of my mouth slightly and made my lips look fuller.

I glowered at the reflection. This costume had exactly one thing going for it: I didn't look a thing like me.

The phone rang and I picked it up, jerking it off the base unit as if impatient. I glared around me, my eyes tracking across every spot I thought could contain an observer, and said, ”Yeah?”

”The merchandise,” murmured a soft, sibilant voice with an odd accent. ”Describe.”

There was something intrinsically unsettling about the voice. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. ”One male and one female, mid- to late-twenties. Shapes.h.i.+fters.”

There was a rustle of static over the line, unless the speaker could make an extremely odd hissing sound. All things considered, I gave it even odds.

”Ten thousand,” said the voice.

I could have played it a couple of different ways. The kinds of people who get into this sort of deal come in about three general types: greedy, low-life sons of b.i.t.c.hes; cold professionals engaged in a business transaction; and desperate amateurs who are in over their heads. I'd already decided to try to come across as the first on the list.

”Forty thousand,” I shot back instantly. ”Each.”

There was a furious sound on the other end of the phone. It wasn't a human sound, either.

”I could pluck out your eyes and cut your tongue into slivers,” hissed the voice. Something about it scared the h.e.l.l out of me, touching on some instinctual level that Ray, in all his repulsive ma.s.s, had not. I felt myself shudder, despite my effort not to do so.

”Whatever,” I said, trying to sound bored. ”Even if you could do it, it gets you nothing. But hey, no skin off my a.s.s either way.”

There was a long silence on the other end of my phone. I thought I felt some kind of pressure building behind my eyelids. I told myself it was my imagination.

”Yo, anyone there?” I complained. ”Listen. Are you up for doing some business, or did I just waste my time?”

After another pause, the voice hissed something in a bubbling, serpentine tongue. The phone rustled, as if changing hands, and a very deep male voice said, ”Twenty thousand. Each.”

”I'm not selling the female for less than thirty.”

”Fifty total, then,” rumbled the new voice. It sounded entirely human.

”Cash,” I demanded.

”Done.”

I kept tracking the street with my eyes, looking for their spotter, but saw no one. ”How do you handle delivery?”

”There's a warehouse.”

”Fat chance. I pull in there, you'll just pop me and make the body disappear along with the freaks.”

”What do you suggest?” rumbled the voice.

”b.u.t.tercup Park. Thirty minutes. One carrier. Carrier hands me half the cash. Then carrier verifies the merchandise in the back of my truck. Carrier hands me the rest of the money. I hand him the keys to the vehicle carrying the merchandise. We all walk away happy.”

The deep-voiced man thought about it for a moment and then grunted. Translation: Agreed. Agreed. ”How will you identify me?” ”How will you identify me?”

I snorted and said, ”Park isn't huge, tough guy. And it ain't my first rodeo.”

I hung up on him, then went back to my motorcycle and left, heading for b.u.t.tercup Park. A lighted sign hanging outside a bank told me it was a quarter after nine. The metro traffic grid was dying down for the night. I got there in a little more than fifteen minutes, parked my Harley in a garage, and made my way to where Georgia's high-dollar SUV was waiting in the same structure. I went around to the back and opened the hatch. Will was just finis.h.i.+ng wrapping Marcy in what appeared to be several layers of duct tape, covering her in a swath from her hips to her deltoids, trapping her arms against her sides. She was wearing a simple sundress with, I a.s.sumed, nothing underneath. I guess when you change into a wolf, you don't take your ensemble with you-being trapped in undies made for a different species species could prove awkward in a fight. could prove awkward in a fight.

Will looked up and gave me a quick nod of greeting. ”All set?”

”So far. You're sure you won't have a problem getting out?” I asked.